Alice Adams · Chapter 5 (2/2)

Walter’s heart was not iron, and the episode of the violets may have reached it. “Oh, blub!” he said, and flung his soft hat violently at the wall.

His mother beamed with delight. “That’s a good boy, darling! You’ll never be sorry you⁠—”

“Cut it out,” he requested. “If I take her, will you pay for a taxi?”

“Oh, Walter!” And again Mrs. Adams showed distress. “Couldn’t you?”

“No, I couldn’t; I’m not goin’ to throw away my good money like that, and you can’t tell what time o’ night it’ll be before she’s willin’ to come home. What’s the matter you payin’ for one?”

“I haven’t any money.”

“Well, father⁠—”

She shook her head dolefully. “I got some from him this morning, and I can’t bother him for any more; it upsets him. He’s always been so terribly close with money⁠—”

“I guess he couldn’t help that,” Walter observed. “We’re liable to go to the poorhouse the way it is. Well, what’s the matter our walkin’ to this rotten party?”

“In the rain, Walter?”

“Well, it’s only a drizzle and we can take a streetcar to within a block of the house.”

Again his mother shook her head. “It wouldn’t do.”

“Well, darn the luck, all right!” he consented, explosively. “I’ll get her something to ride in. It means seventy-five cents.”

“Why, Walter!” Mrs. Adams cried, much pleased. “Do you know how to get a cab for that little? How splendid!”

“Tain’t a cab,” Walter informed her crossly. “It’s a tin Lizzie, but you don’t haf’ to tell her what it is till I get her into it, do you?”

Mrs. Adams agreed that she didn’t.